Thorns
by jane0904
Summary: Directly after A Rose For Everafter, Kate thinks about a certain novelist. And in part 2, set at the end of Sucker Punch, Rick tries to make a life-changing decision. Espresso Lounge - thanks to all of you!
1. Chapter 1

She found herself watching him as he joked with Ryan and Esposito. Shared some titbit of family life with the Captain. Eyed Karpowski when she bent over the desk.

Watching him watching them. Something that was happening more and more often.

"_He's all yours."_

Just what had Kyra Blaine meant by that?

Except Kate knew. Had a more than fair inkling. No thunderbolt, but then Kyra wasn't the only one who'd mentioned it.

They all thought she was in love with Richard Castle.

Honestly, with him? A vain, self-centred, arrogant, shallow, caring, loving, compassionate … when had that happened? Oh, not the love. Never that. But the growing up. Less the twelve-year old and more the man she thought he could be. Sneaking up on her like … well, like a school boy, ready to put that metaphorical frog down her blouse then stand back laughing as she wriggled and screamed.

But not love. She knew what love was, and what she felt wasn't love. Exasperation, maybe. Annoyance, certainly. But love? Read her lips. No. Way.

She'd been in love, felt that all consuming passion, the need to be with that person every second of every day.

The most she wanted from Castle was that he didn't get in the way.

No. Be truthful here. He was helpful. Useful, even. But a potential lover? Huh.

She sipped her coffee, her mind going back ten years to her classics professor, all tweed jacket and leather elbow patches. He'd seemed so much older than her, so much more sophisticated, yet underneath that very proper buttondown shirt was a passionate man, who'd shown her the true meaning of a love affair.

Odd, but he was probably pretty much the same age as Castle now. Not old at all. Well, not _too_ old.

It didn't last, of course. Things happened, people changed – mothers died. And suddenly what she thought she wanted seemed irrelevant. Petty.

He'd stood by her, as much as he could at first, but the conversation … _that_ conversation wasn't long in coming. Not her but him, moving in different directions, so much more to give, someone out there that deserved her … She'd closed up, used one obsession to bury the other, and emerged from those years as … who? Someone else? Certainly not the young girl who'd started college, believing she could changed the world. Now she was just glad to put the bag guys behind bars.

Like Uncle Teddy. All because he was an embezzler. She might have understood a crime of passion more, but over money just seemed tawdry.

And now Kyra and Greg were married, winging their way off on honeymoon, looking forward to sharing their life together.

"_He's all yours."_

Huh. As if she'd want him.

"Detective?"

She jerked slightly, spilling some coffee on the back of her hand. She looked up. "What?"

Castle stood over her, one of those infuriating half-smiles on his lips. "I asked if you wanted a refill."

"No." She pulled a paper tissue from the box on her desk. "I'm fine." She dabbed at her skin.

He perched on the corner. "Thinking?" he asked.

"No."

"Looked like it. Thinking about me."

She glared at him. "No."

"About how you'd like to rip my clothes off and have your wicked way with me right here in the squad room."

"In your dreams."

"Oh, often."

"Have you ever thought of therapy?"

"Once in a while. But most of my misdemeanours are out in the light of day. I'd have nothing juicy to tell."

"I'm sure I could come up with something."

He leaned a little closer. "Sounds like fun." Sitting back he brushed a non-existent piece of lint from his pants leg. "Oh, and Alexis asked if I'd invite you to dinner tonight. She's taking some cooking lessons and wants to experiment."

"What kind?"

"French, I think. That's why she thought of you, since you'd spent time in Europe."

Another mental image assailed her of happier days, walks by the Seine, dodging the traffic around the Arc de Triomphe … She shook herself. Not now. In fact, not ever. "Will she want an honest opinion?"

"Definitely. An unbiased judge. Unlike her grandmother and me."

He was back to normal. Only … No, not quite. There was still a sadness in his eyes, a slight tightening of the skin, but he was trying. Trying very hard. And the least she could do was help.

"Okay. As long as she isn't planning on poisoning us."

"No." Castle grinned a little wider. "That's next week." A thoughtful expression crossed his face. "Or maybe I've got that the wrong way round."

"I'll make sure I have the hospital on speed dial."

"Beckett." Esposito was shrugging into his jacket. "Got a dead one out by the lake in Central Park."

"Murder?"

"Very."

She stood up and grabbed her leather coat. In a moment Castle was there, holding it for her to slip on. "Thanks."

He nodded. "You're welcome."

She half turned, looked into his eyes, those blue eyes that could … No. Stop. He was the last person she should be thinking of starting a relationship with. And he was smirking again. "Just don't fall in."

"I'll try not to."

For a moment there was something else, not spoken, or words taken a slightly different way than meant, then they were Beckett and Castle again.

"Can I drive?" he asked as they stepped away from each other and headed towards the elevator.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's my car."

"Can I use the siren?"

"No."

"Go on."

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"Spoilsport."

"If you start to cry …"


	2. Chapter 2

How would he feel?

It sounded so selfish, but it was the only way he could even begin to understand what she was going through.

How would _he_ feel if it was a member of his family who'd been killed, and he'd just shot the only person who might be able to tell him who ordered the hit?

And it _was_ a hit – that much was certain. Someone high up, too, at least from what little he could glean while Coonan had a gun on him. Damn, but he felt guilty. He'd been held at gunpoint before, even managed to get the weapon away from the perp before he could fire, but this … he'd frozen. Maybe it was knowing how much it meant to Beckett, that she was willing to let the killer walk out rather than have him hurt … or maybe it was just his innate cowardice coming to the fore. And the guilt was eating at him. Okay, he'd head-butted the man, but he never expected …

Why did she do it?

Without thinking. Without a moment's pause she shot Coonan to save him.

Why?

He stared at his reflection in the mirror in the men's room, and a stranger stared back.

What if it had been Alexis? Or his mother? Or Kyra? Or … Kate? Would he have had the control, the guts to do what she did? To know she was perhaps closing the door on the one chance she could really know, really find out what happened that night, and still fire?

He wiped his hands over his face, trying to understand, to use that fertile imagination of his to get inside her head, to know why.

_Her_ hands. She'd been shaking and crying, her hands covered in the man's blood, and all he could do was pat her on the back like she was a dog.

He couldn't feel more disgusted with himself if he tried.

And she'd been grateful that he offered to pay the $100,000 … Money. That's all he could throw at it. The one thing that meant absolutely nothing.

He was wrong. The disgust was growing.

What happened now? He'd told Beckett that he'd do whatever she wanted, even if it was nothing, but could he sit back and let her go through this alone? Of course not. But he'd been the cause. The reason Kate was now almost back to square one, her life – if not her sanity – once again hovering on the edge of the abyss.

She'd said it before, that one day he was going to get someone killed, only she'd meant Ryan or Esposito. This was worse. So much worse.

No. Better to end it. He'd be there for her, whenever she wanted, for whatever, but not at the precinct. His door would always be open, his phone on, but not here.

Do it. Do it now.

He walked out of the men's room, his back straight, heading for Kate's desk.

Words came out of his mouth, he was sure. Something about it being over, that he was done with police work. Then … then …

No, that wasn't right. She couldn't be saying what she was saying, that she needed him, didn't want him to leave, that … something about pigtails?

Relief swept through him. He'd been forgiven, and she wasn't going to turn him away again.

And she was going to be all right, he'd make sure of that. The bad jokes, the worse innuendoes … he'd keep them going, make her embarrassed to be seen with him, just so she didn't think about it. At least, until she was ready. Then he'd be at her side, her right hand, seeing it through to the end.


End file.
